


The Broken King

by ariel2me



Series: Aegon III [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and ficlets about Aegon III Targaryen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Get out, get out, get out,” Viserys repeats, in a sing-songy voice. “Get out, now.”

Aegon raises his head. “What?”

“Wasn’t talking to you.”

“Are you talking to your egg again?” His brother is seven, but sometimes he seems all of four.

“I’m singing to him.” Dragon egg nestling in the crook of his arm, his cheek snuggling close to it as if coaxing a baby, Viserys continues crooning, “Monster, monster, get out. Get out.”

Aegon flinches. Their mother has been screaming those same words for three days and three nights now. And still the baby does not come. Mother’s pain and rage continues unabated.

There is no pain or rage in Viserys’ voice, though. He is repeating Mother’s scream as if the words are prayers guaranteed to bring out the baby.

Baby  _dragon_ , in his case.

Two brothers, each with a dragon egg in his cradle. One hatches, the other doesn’t. Aegon has yet to mount Stormcloud. “He’s not big enough. He’s not strong enough, yet. He still needs to grow,” Father says, meaning, he, Stormcloud, the dragon; he is the one still unready. Not he, Aegon himself, of course. The son of Prince Daemon Targaryen could never be anything other than bold and fearless. Just look at his daughters. How could the long-awaited and much-desired son be anything less? The son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen could never be afraid of mounting his dragon. Just look at her three older sons, proven dragon-riders all. How could her son with her brash, audacious uncle be anything less?

He is not afraid. He is  _not_!

Viserys carries his dragon egg with him everywhere he goes. He carries the egg with him to watch Aegon feeding Stormcloud. He says to the egg, as if talking to a friend who has been hiding for far too long, “Won’t you come out now? Please?  _Please_? See, if you do come out, then I can feed you all those tasty, delicious meat. Sheeps and goats and horses too, if you want. Anything you want.” He whispers, promising, “Anything at all.”

He carries the egg with him when he tells Aegon, “When my dragon comes out, I’m not going to wait so long to fly with him. We’ll go everywhere.  _Everywhere_. Across the sea, too. We’ll stop at Pentos to visit the place Baela and Rhaena were born, and I’ll write to tell them all about it. And then we’ll go to -”

“What do you know about dragons? You don’t even have one,” Aegon snaps. “It’s not a plaything to carry you here, there and everywhere.” He looks away quickly to avoid seeing the tears pooling in his brother’s eyes.

Some nights, though, his little brother wakes up crying and snuggles beside Aegon in his bed. “What if my egg doesn’t hatch,  _ever_?” He whispers in the dark. “What if I am the only one?”

“The only one?”

“The only one who can’t fly! The only one without a dragon. The only one left behind. Mother and Father fly, of course. Jace, Luke and Joff too. Baela says Moondancer is almost ready to take her to the sky. You and Stormcloud too, very soon.”

“Rhaena –

“Rhaena has a new egg. She says the gods will not be so cruel to deny her prayers this time.”

 Two sisters, twins at that, each with a dragon egg in her cradle. One egg hatches to bring forth a healthy, shiny dragon; the other hatches to bring to life a sickly, broken thing that dies within hours. There is a hurt, hungry, angry look on Rhaena’s face when she watches Baela with Moondancer that mirrors the one on Viserys’ face when he watches Aegon with Stormcloud. Aegon has yet to master Baela’s studied and pretend indifference though; her knack of looking away at just the right moment, of letting her sister have the time and space to vent her frustration, before the two of them finally come together again, as sisters, as close companions.   

“They don’t want our pity. That’s the last thing they need, to see that pity reflected in our eyes,” she tells Aegon.   

His little brother does need some reassurances, if not pity. “Your egg  _will_  hatch,” Aegon tells him. “And if it doesn’t, you can ask Mother for another egg. Rhaena got one, why shouldn’t you?”

“But what if it’s too late? What if … what if … my dragon comes out too late? You’re all flying, going away, that’s in my dream. Mother, Father, Jace, Luke, Joff, Baela and Rhaena … even you. And then I’m left behind, all alone.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll never leave you behind,” Aegon says, wiping the tears off his little brother’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

He could not see it. He could not imagine it; Luke plunging into the cold, dark waters of Shipbreaker Bay amidst the thunder and the lightning, amidst the rain and the storm.

“Why would you want to?” Rhaena asked, incredulous. “I cannot stop seeing it, and much good it does me or anyone else,” she said, the one who was mourning not just a cousin and a stepbrother, but a betrothed at that.

 (They were going to have six children, Luke claimed; three boys and three girls. Rhaena had agreed to only four at the most.  _Look how hard it is even with just two_ , she said, in the days when they were pretending and playacting thatAegon and Viserys were their babies.  _Playing house_ , people said, when they were younger.  _Look how sweet they are_ ,  _how precious_. Except of course, when you had been betrothed since you were still in your cradle, playing house was no childhood game so easily forgotten, so blithely set aside.)

“Why?” Rhaena repeated.

“Because,” Aegon said, and promptly lost the words.

Because, when he gazed at the sky to watch for Jace’s return from the north, his eyes stubbornly strayed south still, waiting for the brother who would never return. How could he be dead,  _Luke_ , who was never afraid of anything?

Because, when you had not seen the body, your mind could play tricks and pretend, pretend that the truth was a lie, that the lie was actually truthful.

Joff swore vengeance. “I’ll kill them! Aemond and his dragon both.” His hands were struggling to release Tyraxes’ chain already when his grandfather and grandmother caught up with him. The Sea Snake did not mince his words. “Are you a  _fool_ , boy? Do you want to die like your brother? Vhagar is five times the size of your dragon. If Luke could not manage it, what makes you think  _you_  could?”

That last bit was not very likely to sway Joff, Aegon could have told Lord Velaryon. Indeed, that seemed to spur Joff even more, who was now endeavoring to mount his dragon. In the end, it was his grandmother’s exhortation - her reminder of the mother who was grieving for one son already in her locked, dark room - that convinced Joff to return to the castle. That, and her promise that Luke’s death  _would_ be avenged, eventually. Just not in this way.

They were Joff’sgrandmother and grandfather, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Velaryon. Luke’s and Jace’s too, of course, and Baela’s and Rhaena’s as well. But not Aegon’s and Viserys’ grandmother and grandfather. They had none still living, the two of them. Luke had explained it to Aegon one day, had written it all down with words, lines and arrows; how they were all related and not related, who was related to whom and in what way. Claim of blood. Claim of marriage. Claim of cousinhood.

Claim of betrothal.

He wondered, why had Luke not said to Lord Baratheon, “I am betrothed, my lord, but my brothers are free to wed one of your daughters.” But to ask that question seemed too much like blaming Luke for his own death, so he stopped wondering.

He had the scroll still. Fingers shaking, he traced the lines and the arrows; bent, some of them, crooked, the rest. He smiled. Luke never could draw a straight line.

_And now he never would._

The smile vanished.

He traced the letters of his own name.

 _Aegon_ _Targaryen._

Luke had not written -  _Aegon_ _the Younger_. “You have just as much right to the name Aegon as a son of Queen Alicent does.”

He traced another set of letters.

 _Lucerys_ _Velaryon._

Next to his name, and to Jace’s and Joff’s names, Luke had added,  _[not Strong!]_

An insult (“little bastard Strong boys”), a knife to Aemond’s eye, and here they were, with Luke dead and gone. When Father’s letter arrived ( _An eye for an eye, a son for a son_ , Father had written), Aegon thought, Aemond should have taken only Luke’s eye, not his life.

 _A son for a son._  “What does it mean?” Viserys asked, still clutching his dragon egg, still desperately praying for it to hatch.

Aegon knew, even then, even at nine. Or at least he thought he knew. The truth, the full and complete truth, was even more monstrous than anything he could have imagined back then. But then again, back then, he could never have imagined that a boy could be forced to watch his mother being fed to a dragon, no more than he could have imagined that a mother could be forced to choose which of her sons would be brutally murdered in front of her very eyes. “ _War makes monsters of us all,_ ” some would prattle and prate endlessly, but he refused to believe in that notion, in that shrugging off and easy denial of culpability, in that gross abdication of responsibility.

 _We were monsters, and then there were wars_.


	3. Chapter 3

Head resting on his dragon’s egg, Viserys asks, “How far is it, Pentos?”

“I don’t know,” Aegon replies, distracted by the sight of Stormcloud struggling against his chains. What had disturbed his dragon? When the ship first set sail, Stormcloud had been calm, as meek and mild as a purring kitten.  

“Why isn’t Joff being sent away like us? To keep him safe, like we’re being sent to Pentos to keep us safe.”

“Joff is going to the Vale, remember?” Aegon says. He stands, making his way towards his dragon.

Viserys stands too, trailing his brother closely. “But Jace told Joff sending him to the Vale is not for keeping him safe. That’s only so that Joff and his dragon can protect the Vale.”

“Jace only said that so Joff would agree to go.” Joff would have balked at being treated like his two young half-brothers, sent away like a parcel to be kept hidden and safe.

“So Jace was lying?”

“No. He was only … well, he was only -” _Trying to be kingly_ , Jace had told Aegon. He had seemed anxious and exhilarated, both at the same time.

“What? Jace was only what?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“It’s good to ask questions. Father said so.”

 _My clever boy_ , Father calls Viserys. Quick and clever, like his father. _Let’s hope he doesn’t grow to be as cunning as his father_ , Princess Rhaenys had once retorted. But Princess Rhaenys is dead too, like her grandson Luke. She died with her red dragon Meleys.  

Aegon is nervous around his father. Father is too quick for him, too confusing. Father often says things that do not actually mean what Aegon thinks it to mean. Viserys could keep up with Father’s tricks, riddles and games better.

Aegon starts caressing Stormcloud’s neck, to calm him down. “What is it, boy? What’s wrong?” Stormcloud couldn’t be hungry. Aegon had fed him only a short while ago.

Viserys watches Aegon caressing his dragon with hungry eyes. “Rhaena got _three_ new eggs. Three! Why didn’t _I_ get a new egg?” he complains.

“Her dragon died at birth, remember?”

“Mine was never born.”

“Maybe your egg will still hatch, one day.”

“Do you think so?”

Aegon is not so sure, but he nods anyway. When they get home from Pentos, when it is finally safe to return, he’ll ask Mother - or Father, if Father is back - to give Viserys another egg.

“I’ll name my dragon Lucerys, after Luke,” Viserys declares.

“You can’t!” Aegon exclaims, aghast at the notion.

“Why not?”

“That’s not a dragon’s name. And besides, it might make Mother sad.” Mother collapsed, after Luke died. She stayed in her room most of the time and refused to allow the servants to light the candles or draw the curtains. Jace was the one who decided to send Aegon and Viserys to Pentos, and to send Joff and Rhaena to the Vale.  

Aegon does not want to see a dragon called Lucerys either. Maybe if Luke had been sent away, to Pentos, or the Vale, or anywhere else, he would not be dead, and he could still marry Rhaena and father the six children he dreamed of.

“I’ll name my dragon Cloudstorm then, after yours,” Viserys says with a grin, trying to pat Stormcloud with the hand not clutching his dragon’s egg. Stormcloud does not approve. He flexes his neck and roars, loudly and angrily.

Viserys steps back in alarm, almost falling down. Aegon catches his brother before he falls. The dragon’s egg slips from Viserys’ grasp and rolls across the ship deck. Both brothers run after it, and mercifully, Aegon manages to catch the egg before any harm comes to it. He hands the egg back to Viserys, who cries with relief that his precious egg is safe.

Later, Viserys says, glumly, “Why doesn’t Stormcloud like me? I’m always nice to him. I try to give him extra food sometimes after you’ve fed him, but he would not take it from my hand.”

“Remember what Mother said _?” Dragons can know many riders in their lifetime, but they will only bond with one rider at a time,_ Rhaenyra Targaryen had reminded her sons.

“Stormcloud is yours, not mine, so I cannot ride him. Even if I want to. Even if I try really, really hard.”

“You’ll have your own dragon soon. Then we can race them across the sea, to see who is faster.”

Viserys cheers visibly. He is a lively, good-natured boy, rarely down for long. “I’ll beat you for sure,” he says to his older brother.


	4. Chapter 4

He was always too late.

Too late to grab his brother's hand so Viserys could mount Stormcloud behind him and they could both escape to safety.

Too late to stop Joff from mounting Mother's dragon and plunging to his death.

Too late in shouting _“Mother, flee!”_ to warn his mother of the dangers and the traitors.

Too late in snatching Ser Harrold's sword to defend his mother's life.

He would not be too late this time. Not again. Never again.

“Pay them. Pay the Lyseni whatever they want, Lord Alyn. Whatever it takes to bring my brother home.”

“Your Grace, your regents might object to the amount. It is … stupendous.”

“Pay them! I will answer to my regents. They may do as they wish to punish me for it, as long as Viserys returns safely to King's Landing.”

Alyn Velaryon nodded and took his leave. Aegon blew out the candles, plunging his bedchamber into darkness once again. He sat on the floor, at the foot of his bed, with both hands covering his face.

Alive. Viserys was _alive._

_He will hate me. He will hate me for letting him languish in captivity for so long._

_I didn't know! I thought you were dead. Everyone thought you were dead._

_He will hate me for abandoning him, for breaking my promise to never leave him behind. How scared he must have been. How terrified, betrayed and disappointed. How angry, rightfully angry._

_Forgive me. Oh forgive me, brother!_

_Too late. It is far too late to ask for forgiveness. He will never forgive you. Never._

Only the living could hate, only the living could refuse to forgive. He would gladly accept this, accept his brother's hate and unforgiving scorn, in return for seeing Viserys one more time.

Gaemon sat down beside him, as quiet as a shadowless shadow. “How much gold is _stupendous_? Will they be angry, your regents? Am I going to be whipped?”

“They will not hurt you, I promise,” Aegon replied. “Not for this. It is not a whipping sort of offence.” They would want more power, his regents; imposing more restrictions on his already slender grip on the throne.

 _You will not be under their hold forever,_ Baela was tireless in reminding him.

 _This, too, shall pass,_ Rhaena would add.

 _On your sixteenth nameday,_ Baela continued.

Reunited, the sisters were a joined force to be reckoned with. Reunited, the sisters were a source of both strength and comfort to him.

Reunited, the sisters were a source of his secret envy. It hurt, to see them finishing each other's sentences, or signalling to the other with a mere flick of an eyebrow.

_My brother and I used to -_

_My brother and I -_

_Until I left him. Until I abandoned him._

“What was he like, Prince Viserys?” Gaemon asked.

“ _Is_ , not was. He is still alive.”

“Yes, but -” Gaemon hesitated, before adding, “Never mind.”

“Say it. I will not be angry.”

“I don't want to say it, Your Grace.”

“Why not? I told you, I will not be angry.”

“But you will sad. _Sadder._ Sadder than you already are, and that is already too sad.”

Aegon sighed. “You wanted to say, _But you do not know what your brother is like now. You only know what he was like back then._ ”

Gaemon nodded, reluctantly.

“Viserys was clever. He could speak as well as a grown man … no, better than most grown men, running circles around people with his words.” Aegon turned to look at Gaemon. “Does that remind you of another boy?”

“I do not remember that boy,” Gaemon replied. “That other boy.”


End file.
